Harry Potter and the Heartwood Arrow
by Rurouni Ken-ouki
Summary: The prophecy gone, Voldemort turns his attention back to his orignal goal: kill Harry Potter!
1. Cats and Fangs

Chapter 1: Cats and Fangs  
  
It was raining on Privet Drive, and had been for most of the last two weeks. An ankle-deep river ran down the street and the prim, tidy gardens had been turned to miniature swamps by the unrelenting rains. Aunt Petunia had wept when her well-trimmed flowerbed began to float downstream.  
  
Harry continued to stare out the window. He had spent the entire day like that, praying for the storm to let up, just long enough for an owl or two to get through.  
  
He ached for news of the wizarding world, but Hedwig hadn't returned in almost a month, no doubt because of the weather. It was his birthday, so he knew someone would send him something, but only if the winds died down.  
  
A glance at the alarm clock told him it was a quarter to three. Maybe he should go see if Mrs. Figg had heard anything. He'd go crazy if he stayed here staring at the storm. Of course, he'd have to BE crazy to actually go out into that storm. But Harry had always had an overabundance of courage, and he wasn't going to let a little rain (or a lot of it) stand between him and possible news.  
  
Three o' clock found Harry plodding down Privet Drive in one of Dudley's old slickers. Even a raincoat specifically tailored for someone Harry's size would have failed to keep him dry in these conditions, and, as it was, he was completely soaked and quite numb by the time he reached Mrs. Figg's.  
  
"Oh, you poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Figg upon opening the door. "Come in, before you catch your death of cold!" She quickly ushered him inside before calling out to someone in the house. "Charlie! Be a dear and get a fire going!"  
  
Harry was idly wondering if she could possible mean Charlie Weasley, when he entered the living room and there he was, dressed in a dark green shirt which sported a dragon on the front. He was poking at a violet fire with his wand, but stopped as he saw Harry.  
  
"Harry!" Charlie said, gesturing for Harry to come sit by the fire. "What on Earth are you doing here?"  
  
Harry laughed. "I could ask you the same thing." He sat down and held his hands out towards the fire. Instantly, he felt the warmth sink into him, driving away the cold. A dark black kitten climbed onto his lap almost as soon as he had settled, and promptly fell asleep.  
  
"Caught up with Lucius Malfoy down in Athens a few weeks ago," he said with a grimace. "I managed to capture him, but he did a number on my leg in the process." Charlie lifted up the hem of his robe to reveal a heavily bandaged leg. "They sent me here for some R&R just before the storm hit."  
  
Harry looked up at Charlie, as something struck him. "What were you doing in Greece?"  
  
"Don't really know," Charlie shrugged. "I was just following the prat. I've been following him ever since the latest Azkaban breakout. He's led me halfway across Europe."  
  
Harry leaned forward, keen to hear more. This was exactly the type of thing he had been hoping to learn. "So what was he after? What's in Athens?"  
  
Charlie shook his head. "I wish I could tell you, but we don't really know what Voldemort's after. I was sent here to recuperate before he was ready to be interrogated. Mad Eye's taken over." Charlie looked upset, and Harry could guess why - Charlie had gone through all the effort to catch Lucius Malfoy, but the same storm that kept Harry out of the loop prevented Charlie from learning anything either.  
  
A thought occurred to Harry. "Couldn't you just apparate back to Athens and find out?" he asked. He had spent much of the last two weeks wishing he was old enough to apparate with that very goal in mind.  
  
"No good," Charlie said with a sigh. "Too much energy in the air." As if to demonstrate his point, the sky rumbled with thunder. "It's too dangerous to apparate or use portkeys. Flu network's down, too." he added as an afterthought. "Hell, I couldn't even go down the street to wish you a happy birthday with my leg the way it is."  
  
"That's okay," Harry said, feeling slightly guilty. "If I had known you were here, I'd have come by sooner."  
  
"Probably better that you didn't," Charlie replied, solemnly. "Now that the prophecy's gone, Voldemort's likely to focus on his original goal again."  
  
Harry blinked. "His original goal?"  
  
"Killing you," Charlie said, fixing his gaze on Harry. Then he shook his head. "Let's move on to brighter topics, then. I got you something. Hold on and I'll go get it."  
  
He bustled off, and Harry sat basking in the heat of the fire, while Mrs. Figg told him all about her cats. Apparently, Mittens had a litter of kittens, and now Mrs. Figg was trying to find homes for them.  
  
"It's not easy," she confided to Harry. "These are scryling kittens, so I can't sell 'em to muggles, and all the wizarding folk are all paranoid and nervous, what with You-Know-Who about and everything. But I have to find people to take them, before they're too old to Bond. You've heard about Bonding, haven't you?"  
  
Harry hadn't, but he had a guess. "It's like with Filch and Mrs. Norris, right?" Mrs. Figg gave him a confused look, and Harry realized that she probably had never met Filch or his cat. He looked down at the ball of black fur curled up on his lap.  
  
"Can anybody bond with them?" Harry asked, attempting to break the awkward silence. He hadn't really thought about it before, but a cat like that could be useful.  
  
"I think so," Mrs. Figg said, pursing her lips in thought. "It's mostly squibs that get them. I don't think the Bonding is quite as strong with full wizards, but I'm not really sure." Then a smile crept slowly onto her face as she realized the implications of Harry's question. "You want one, then?" she asked. "Your aunt and uncle won't mind?"  
  
Harry was pretty certain that his aunt and uncle WOULD mind, but that was their problem. It occurred to him that they might even tolerate something as seemingly ordinary as a cat.  
  
"It'll be okay," he assured her. He stroked the kitten on his lap, who purred affectionately. "How much for this one?"  
  
"Oh," Mrs. Figg declared. "I could never charge a friend, especially on his birthday. It'll be worth it to know she's in a good home."  
  
"Really?" Harry asked. "Thanks! Does she have a name yet?"  
  
Mrs. Figg looked almost appalled. "Dear, no! Naming the kitten is how you start the Bonding process. I've only named two of them: Chloey and Marbles. The rest I'm trying to find owners for. So what are you going to call her?"  
  
Harry studied the kitten, who stared up at him intently. Her eyes were a very dark blue, almost black, with white pinpricks that made Harry feel as if he was looking into a starry sky.  
  
"I think I'll call you Midnight," he told the kitten. She mewed and rubbed her head against his hand. The moment they touched, he felt a sudden surge of emotion, in the back of his head. He could feel the kitten's appreciation for the name, her desire to please and protect him, and to be protected by him in turn. It was completely unlike anything Harry had ever felt before. Then Midnight leapt off his lap to chase a ball of yarn, and the feeling vanished.  
  
"There's nothing quite like seeing somebody Bond with a scryling," Mrs. Figg said with misty-eyes.  
  
"Did I hear someone's giving away free kittens?" Charlie asked, grinning as he stuck his around the corner. "Where do I sign up?"  
  
"Just take one!" Mrs. Figg said exasperatedly, although there was a smile across her face. "Believe me, you'll be doing me a favor."  
  
Charlie surveyed the multitude of kittens scattered across the room. Then, quite suddenly, he spun around and grabbed the dark purple kitten that was in the process of pouncing at his shoelaces. Harry was impressed. He wasn't sure if those fast reactions were a necessity when dealing with dragons, or if they were remnants of Charlie's days as a Seeker. Probably a bit of both, he decided.  
  
The purple kitten let out a confused meow as it dangled from Charlie's hand. Then it spotted the dragon on his shirt, and tried desperately to claw at that, its current situation completely forgotten.  
  
"That's it," Charlie laughed. "You're Dragonbait." Then a strange look came over him, and Harry knew he was experiencing that same wave of emotion Harry had felt only moments before. Harry's thoughts turned to Midnight, who tried to impress on him the gravity of the situation as she stalked the ball of yarn across the floor.  
  
"Oh," Charlie said, still a little dazed from the Bonding. "I almost forgot your present, Harry." He reached into his pocket and removed a small package, wrapped in blue paper. "Happy birthday!" he grinned, handing the parcel to Harry.  
  
"Thanks!" Harry said, as he excitedly tore the paper from the box and opened it. Inside was a necklace with six black fangs on it.  
  
"It's a dragon tooth necklace," Charlie explained. "From the Horntail you beat two years ago." He sighed. "She went wild and had to be put down. Been happening a lot since Voldemort came back." He shook his head as if to cast off the depression and continued. "Anyway, that necklace will help protect you, especially from fire. It won't do anything drastic, like let you stick your hand in the fireplace, but every little bit counts, right?"  
  
"Certainly couldn't hurt," Harry laughed.  
  
The three of them spent the next few hours talking about scrylings, and dragons, and anything else that crossed their minds. Although both Mrs. Figg and Charlie would change the subject whenever Harry brought up Voldemort, it had been so long since he was able to talk about ANYTHING magic related that it didn't bother him much. They probably would have kept on talking for hours more if the grandfather clock hadn't struck six.  
  
"Oh my!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. "You should go. Your aunt and uncle will be worried."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said wryly. "Worried I'll come back." But he got to his feet and called to Midnight, who scampered up the back of a chair and leapt onto Harry's shoulder.  
  
"Hold up a moment, Harry," Charlie called out, struggling to his feet. He walked Harry to the front door. Rummaging through the closet, he emerged, not with the slicker Harry had brought in, but an old, weatherbeaten red coat. It glowed slightly in the dim light, like the embers of a dying fire.  
  
"My old drycoat," he said, offering it to Harry. "It's seen better days, but this coat will keep you dry as a bone in the middle of a monsoon." Harry began to protest, but Charlie cut him off. "This is a loan. I'll want it back. I can't use it right now, so it might as well be keeping somebody dry.  
  
"All right," Harry said, sliding into the coat. It was a bit broad around the shoulders, but all-in-all it was a much better fit than Dudley's old slicker. It was warm, too, as if it had just been run through the dryer.  
  
Harry was about to leave, when Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder.  
  
"Harry, I want you to promise me that you won't come visit me again."  
  
Harry blinked in confusion. "Why not?"  
  
"Privet Drive isn't safe right now. If there was an attack, there'd be no way to get help. Until this storm blows over, I want you to stay at home. If something happens, use the muggle telefun lines to contact me. Got it?"  
  
"Tele-PHONE lines," Harry corrected, forcing a smile. Charlie didn't return it.  
  
"Promise me, Harry."  
  
"Fine!" Harry wrenched his arm from Charlie's grasp. "I'll stay at home and be a good boy. Happy?" Midnight, sensing Harry's anger, hissed at Charlie. Tucking the scryling into one of the coat's large pockets, he stormed out the door.  
  
His anger faded when he discovered what a useful gift the drycoat was. Despite the pouring rain, Harry was warm and dry, as if he was still sitting in front of the fire. It was tempting to just walk around in the storm, but something in the back of his mind told him to hurry home.  
  
His heart began to race as he made his way towards number four. The rains masked everything more than a foot away from him in a gray haze, and he began to feel claustrophobic.  
  
Was he hearing things, or was there a splash behind him?  
  
'Stop it,' he told himself. 'You're getting paranoid.' Yet all the same, he quickened his pace.  
  
He had never been so relieved to see number four, Privet Drive before.  
  
There it was again. There was definitely a splash.  
  
Harry bolted, running as fast as he could for the door. He wrenched it open, and flung himself inside. As he turned around, he saw the silhouette of a man, barely visible in the endless rain. He gulped nervously, and quickly closed the door. 


	2. Unexpected Guests

Chapter 2: Unexpected Guests  
  
Harry stood there for a moment, his back against the door as his breath came in heavy gasps. The image of that shadowed figure wouldn't leave his head. He shivered as he remembered Charlie's warning; if trouble came, there'd be no way to get help.  
  
Then he was suddenly overwhelmed by a soft, warm feeling. It was as if somebody was saying "There's nothing to worry about. It's warm and cozy. What could possibly happen?" Harry couldn't help but grin as he pulled open the drycoat to see Midnight staring up at him from the oversized pocket she was in.  
  
"I wish things were that simple, Midnight," he told the kitten. But the sense of panic had vanished. Dumbledore's spell would protect him as long as he lived with his aunt. He wouldn't call Number Four "warm and cozy," but at least he was safe here.  
  
Harry quickly pulled the coat closed (receiving feelings of discomfort and annoyance from Midnight) as Aunt Petunia entered the foyer. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep Midnight a secret very long, but he didn't feel like putting up with a rant about "taking in strays" at the moment.  
  
"Wipe your feet!" she snapped as she batted at the railing with a feather duster. "If you leave so much as a spot of mud..." She let the threat hang. If she had given Harry so much as a second glance, she might have noticed that despite having just come in from that torrential downpour, he was completely dry. As it was she was busy chasing imaginary dust particles, and continued into the dining room muttering something about having sense to come out of the rain.  
  
The last time Harry had seen his aunt go this ballistic cleaning the house was when the Masons had visited four years ago. That had not gone well, with the subsequent arrival of Dobby. Nobody had mentioned anything about visitors to him, but considering he tried to spend as little time as possible with the Dursleys, that was hardly surprising. He didn't really care. Anybody the Dursleys invited over was undoubtedly somebody Harry would rather not meet. It was probably just more business partners of Uncle Vernon, anyway.  
  
He pulled Midnight out of her pocket and deposited her on his shoulder before he hung the drycoat up in the closet. It looked very odd, Harry noticed as he closed the door, glowing dimly in the dark. He shrugged. His aunt and uncle were so obsessed with the mundane, though, that they probably wouldn't notice.  
  
Harry's stomach growled, and he decided he should get food while he could, before he was locked in his room for the night.  
  
The smells in the kitchen were overwhelming. A large turkey sat in the oven, while a kidney pie cooled on the counter. On the table was an artfully arranged platter of cheese and biscuits. There was also a meal set out for Harry – stale cheese on stale bread – and a note telling him not to touch anything.  
  
Harry nicked some of biscuits off the platter, carefully choosing ones that wouldn't make noticeable holes in the display.  
  
"Hungry?" he asked Midnight, offering her a piece of cheese. She snapped it up eagerly, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. He winced a second later, as Midnight dug her claws into his shoulder in order to keep her balance. She shot him an angry look.  
  
"All right, I'll be more careful in the future." He rubbed a finger along her head. Her eyes closed and she purred loudly. "I'm certainly glad I trekked out to Mrs. Figg's, or I wouldn't have ended up with you." He felt a wave of happiness and gratification flow through him.  
  
"What in blazes is that!?" The warm feelings fled from Harry as he turned to face his uncle. Midnight hissed.  
  
"It's a cat," he said. He'd had very little patience for his uncle since the rains had isolated him. Not that he told his uncle about his inability to communicate with the wizarding world. Uncle Vernon's fear that half a dozen wizards might show up at any moment was the only reason Harry got any peace these days. "You know, four legs, a tail, says 'meow.' A cat."  
  
Uncle Vernon's face started to turn red. "Don't you take that tone with me, boy!"  
  
Harry sighed. He was tired of this. He was tired of it all. He had put up with everything for sixteen years to the day, and he was tired of it. He was tired of his only family treating him with hatred and fear. He was tired of the entire wizarding community gawking at his scar and whispering about him like he was some great oddity. He was tired of being called a liar and a crackpot, only to have those same people call him a hero a moment later. He put up with it all and he had nothing to show for it.  
  
"Look, it's just a kitten Mrs. Figg gave me. I'll take care of her, and she won't claw at the furniture or anything like that, so can we skip the argument? I just want to go to my room, and as you're obviously expecting company, I'm sure you want me there, too."  
  
Uncle Vernon didn't seem to know how to respond to this. He opened his mouth several times, but didn't say anything.  
  
"Er... fine then," he finally managed to say. "I guess it's... as long as it doesn't... Right, you can keep it if you stay in your room the entire night, and don't do any... you know."  
  
"Fine," Harry said. "Good night." He stepped past his uncle, and started towards his room. Even the act of walking seemed to be a terrible amount of effort.  
  
It had been like this all summer. He was fine as long as he kept busy, but if he stopped too long for any reason, everything seemed to catch up to him and sap away his energy. It became even worse since the rains came and trapped him inside.  
  
Midnight mewed curiously, and Harry felt his apathy lift just a little. She purred and rubbed her face against his cheek.  
  
He encountered Dudley on the stairs, nervously running a comb through his blond hair. His eyes narrowed when he saw Harry. They flicked briefly to Midnight before returning to Harry.  
  
"You'd better not mess things up tonight," Dudley warned.  
  
"Whatever you say, Dudley." Harry pushed past him, which wasn't easy, as Dudley took up most of the staircase. Part of Harry wondered who the visitors were, if Dudley cared so much, but a larger part of him found it was too much of an effort to care.  
  
Fortunately, Dudley didn't seem interested in picking a fight at the moment and Harry was able to make it to his room without incident. At the moment, he just wanted to collapse onto his bed and go to sleep.  
  
The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.  
  
"Dobby?" Harry could hardly believe his eyes. "I- When did- What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?" For Dobby was dressed in what appeared to be a muggle postman's uniform. Considering Dobby's usually extreme taste in clothing, he hadn't done too bad a job. The socks, of course, didn't match, and neither did his gloves. The hat might have fit him, if it weren't for his large ears. As it was, it dangled loosely from one of them. Midnight appeared not to be phased by the house elf's presence. She hopped off of Harry's shoulder and curled up on his pillow.  
  
"Dobby is delivering letters to Hogwarts students!" Dobby shouted happily.  
  
"Shhh!" Harry warned. "Keep it down."  
  
The smile quickly fell from Dobby's face. "Harry Potter does not want Dobby here?"  
  
Dealing with house elves, especially ones like Dobby, was a tricky business Harry had known Dobby for several years now, however, and he had learned how to handle troublesome situations with the elf.  
  
"I don't mind you being here, Dobby," he said quickly, "but there are two rules you have to follow. One, keep your voice down." Dobby nodded. "And two, under no circumstances are you to punish yourself. If you feel you have to, wait until you're out of the house. Understand?" He didn't want to think of what Hermione would say if she saw him bossing Dobby around. Still, Hermione never had to count on a house elf behaving to avoid the Dursley's wrath. "So, what are you doing here, anyway?"  
  
Dobby nodded again, then whispered. "Dobby is delivering Hogwarts letters." He handed Harry a thick package with the familiar emerald green writing on it. "It is too dangerous for owls in this weather," Dobby went on, "but house elves is not supposed to mind the weather."  
  
"I thought it was too dangerous to apparate with these storms going on, though."  
  
"For wizards, yes!" Dobby nodded. "But house elves can manage. Dobby started yesterday, when the storms lessened a little." Harry thought back to the day before. If the rains had been any lighter then, he hadn't noticed.  
  
"You must be doing pretty well, if you've made it to 'P' already," Harry said with a grin. Dobby didn't grin back.  
  
"Actually, Dobby was delivering a letter to Lewis, Tom, who lives only a few miles from here, and Dobby thought he might pay Harry Potter a visit." Dobby looked ashamed, and started glancing around, presumably for something solid to hit himself with.  
  
"No punishing yourself," Harry warned, "remember? Delivering a letter or two out of order isn't a big deal. I'm sure Dumbledore won't mind. How's he doing, anyway?"  
  
"Master Dumbledore is very busy these days," Dobby sighed. "Tired, Dobby thinks. He is running all over helping people with hardly a minute to himself. Poor Master Dumbledore." Harry wasn't sure how serious to take Dobby's lamentations. On one hand, he sounded very similar to Winky when she worried needlessly about Mr. Crouch. On the other hand, Dobby was different from most house elves, and Harry wasn't sure if he'd fuss over his employer as much as Winky. Regardless, Harry wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to find out what was going on in the fight against Voldemort.  
  
"So, what exactly has he been doing?" he asked, eagerly.  
  
Dobby shook his head. "Dobby cannot say. Master Dumbledore made Dobby his personal house elf, and Dobby keeps his master's secrets."  
  
"You got promoted?" Harry said, fighting between disappointment that Dobby wouldn't tell him what was happening and enthusiasm for Dobby's good fortune.  
  
"Dobby impressed Master Dumbledore by cleaning the Gryffindor common room when no other house elf would. Master Dumbledore had to remind them that students cannot set house elves free. Dobby has been running errands all over Europe for Master Dumbledore! It's a lot of fun, although Dobby does miss cleaning. Master Dumbledore is very tidy, so Dobby does not get to clean very often."  
  
Harry grinned as Dobby's enthusiasm chased away his bad feelings. "That's great! How's Winky doing?"  
  
"Dobby is not knowing. Winky disappeared from the kitchens shortly before Dobby got promoted!" Harry felt a pang at how carelessly Dobby mentioned Winky's disappearance. "Oh! Here is a letter for Harry Potter. Dobby almost forgot!" He handed an envelope to Harry. Harry checked both sides, but there was no emerald green ink, nor any writing of any kind on it. He opened it excitedly, and pulled out a piece of parchment, but that, too, was blank.  
  
"Dobby, is this the wrong letter?"  
  
"Nope, that is Master Dumbledore's letter, see?" He pointed eagerly at the parchment. Harry was about to protest, when he noticed ink seeping through the parchment to spell out words. It must have had an enchantment, to prevent other people from reading it. As soon as the words were legible, he began to read.  
  
Dear Harry Potter,  
  
For starters, I would like to congratulate you on reaching your sixteenth birthday. It has been a long difficult journey, but you have proven yourself many times over to be equal to the task.  
  
As much as I am sure it will pain you to hear words of caution, I am afraid I must give them to you. These storms make it difficult to discern what Voldemort is up to, but I am certain he will try something soon. Exercise caution if you leave your aunt's house for any reason.  
  
I believe the storm will lighten up a bit some time late tonight (assuming Dobby does indeed skip a few names), and concurrently, you will have an entire flock of owls at your window. I am sending a present that I believe you will find most useful if you decide to take the Weapon Dueling class being offered this year. I strongly urge you to consider this class, although I am quite sure you need no encouragement on that front.  
  
Somebody will come to pick you up one week after the storms truly end. We will begin your occlumency instruction as soon as you are safe. For now, the protection spell should keep most dreams out of your head. If you do have any strange dreams, I encourage you to ignore them. Voldemort is very tricky, as I am sure you know, and you mustn't give him any opportunities.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
Harry fell back onto his bed. The end of the letter had crushed all the happiness it had first instilled him with. He knew how tricky Voldemort could be, and the consequences of falling for his schemes. If Harry had not allowed himself to be duped, Sirius Black would still be alive.  
  
"Is Harry Potter all right?" Dobby asked, peering intently at Harry.  
  
"No, Dobby," he said. "I'm not all right. I can't let go of him. It's my fault he died."  
  
"Harry speaks of Sirius Black? Dobby met him last year. Sirius Black was a good man. Dobby did not know him well, but Dobby is thinking he wouldn't want Harry to be sad. He died so Harry could live. Harry Potter should live happily. Oh, but perhaps Dobby is out of place."  
  
"No, it's all right. It's something I need to learn to live with."  
  
"Maybe..." Dobby looked around nervously. "Maybe if Dobby gave Harry Potter his birthday present, he'd be happier?"  
  
Harry smiled weakly at the house elf. "Sure, Dobby. Go ahead." Dobby grinned and snapped his fingers. A mountain of socks appeared on Harry's bed. One was blue with gold lightning bolts on it. Another was red with broomsticks. A third one was orange with "Harry Potter" written down the side of it in flashing letters. No two socks were the same color and each had a different pattern on it.  
  
"Wow!" Harry said, unable to think of anything else to say. "It certainly is a lot of- Shhh!" He had heard footsteps outside his door. They stopped, and the door handle turned. Harry's heart was racing. If the Dursleys caught Dobby in Harry's room, that would be bad enough, but if one of the visiting muggles came in, things would be much worse.  
  
The door opened, and Harry's heart came to a sudden stop. Looking through the doorway was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Large blue eyes peered out from behind golden bangs. Her creamy skin was perfect, save for a cute spattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.  
  
"Oh," she said, "I'm sorry. I just heard voices. Dudley didn't mention having a brother."  
  
"Cousin," Harry croaked. His mouth had suddenly gone quite dry. He swallowed nervously and continued. "Our mothers were sisters."  
  
She smiled, and Harry almost fell off the bed. "Well, it's nice to meet you," she said. She held out her hand. Harry stood up to shake it. Her hand was soft and smooth, and Harry couldn't help but notice how sweaty his hand was. "Amanda Dale," she said.  
  
"Harry Potter." Amanda's eyes went wide at the mention of his name.  
  
"Not THE Harry Potter?" she asked. Harry had no clue what to make of this. He had been fairly certain the the Dursleys' guests would be muggles, but this was the kind of reactions he usually got from fellow wizards. It did occurr to him, though, that if Amanda was in fact a witch, the Dursleys probably wouldn't know.  
  
"No wonder Dudley never mentioned you," Amanda went on, grinning. "I never thought I'd meet the 'Terror of Little Winging' here!"  
  
Harry blinked in confusion. "The what?"  
  
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "That's what they call you on Rose Hill, anyway." Rose Hill was just a little ways north of Privet Drive. It was a slightly richer, classier neighborhood, drawing the line between upper class, and upper-middle class. Harry knew Aunt Petunia dreamt of moving to a big house on Rose Hill some day.  
  
"Apparently my reputation precedes me," Harry said, wryly. "You sure you want to be seen with me?"  
  
"There's no one here to see us," Amanda laughed. It was a pretty, musical laugh, and Harry found himself trying to think of something else to say that would make her laugh again. "And anyone's better than Dudley," she went on, rolling her eyes. "The boy's got all the subtlety of a rhinoceros. I told him I had to use the bathroom just to get away from him for a bit. Then I heard you talking." She stopped, as if something had suddenly occurred to her. "Say, who were you talking to?"  
  
Harry had completely forgotten about Dobby until just now. Glancing around though, Dobby, along with the giant pile of socks, had apparently vanished..  
  
"No one," he said. "Just going over some homework problems out loud." The mention of homework made him realize that if she saw his books, he'd be in real trouble. There was a lot scattered about his room that muggles shouldn't see. "Anyway," he went on, speaking a bit faster than he normally would, "I'm done for now. Just let me put these away." He quickly gathered up his books, snatching up his pocket sneak-o-scope and the open photo album as well, and stuffed them under the bed.  
  
He turned back to face her, and his heart froze. Right behind her was the Monster Book of Monsters. It had grown tamer in the last year or so, but it still wasn't a good thing for Amanda to see. It opened its pages to pull on her dress, when suddenly there was a loud CRACK.  
  
"What was that?" Amanda said, turning around to look for the source of the noise. The book, fortunately, was gone, although Harry thought he heard a muffled whimper from the closet. He hoped Dobby was okay.  
  
"Must've been a car backfiring," Harry said quickly. "So..." He tried to find some way to steer the conversation to safer topics, "What are you doing here?" The moment he said it, he wanted to hit himself. "I mean, uh, the Dursleys didn't tell me they were having people over tonight."  
  
Amanda sighed. "My father knew Mr. Dursley from back when they were both attending Smeltings. Mr. Dursley's a few years older than my father, and apparently my father looked up to him a lot back then. They ran into each other when Mr. Dursley ended up contracting my dad's company to upgrade his company's computer network. They decided that since they both had kids the same age, we must be perfect for each other." She glanced at the door, then made a face. "I should probably go back before Dudley comes looking for me."  
  
"Wait!" Harry called out. He wasn't sure why he said it, either. He just knew that if Amanda left now, he'd probably never see her again, and he wanted to talk with her more. "Don't go if you don't want to."  
  
She turned to look at him. "I don't want to get you into trouble."  
  
"You're worth it," Harry said without thinking. He cursed himself silently. Amanda blushed slightly, but she smiled. "I mean," Harry stammered on, not sure of what he was saying, "you're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in two weeks, with the rain and all. That is to say-"  
  
She giggled. "Don't worry," she told him. "I understand what you mean. My father tries to control my life, always forcing me to do the most boring things, like sewing and cooking... and tonight, for that matter, until I ran until you. I'm sure all parents are like that to some degree or another, right?"  
  
"I wouldn't know," Harry sighed. "My parents died when I was just a baby. My aunt and uncle raised me, but they try to pretend I don't exist most of the time."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry." Amanda turned away, running a nervous finger along the edge of his dresser. "My mother died when I was only three." There was a long, awkward pause. Harry stared at his hands, while Amanda continued examining the dresser. "So you have a bird?" she finally said, looking at Hedwig's empty cage.  
  
"Yeah," Harry nodded, grateful for the change in subject. "Hedwig. She's a snowy owl. She's been out for a while, hopefully somewhere drier." It suddenly dawned on Harry that he shouldn't be making Amanda stand. "Uh... do you want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the bed. It was a mess, as he hadn't bothered making it that morning, although he was starting to wish he had. "Sorry I don't have a chair," he added.  
  
"That's fine," Amanda said, flashing another smile that made Harry's knees buckle. She walked over to the bed and sat down. She looked at Harry, who was still standing. "It's going to be awkward if you don't take a seat, too. Haven't you ever been in bed with a girl?" She batted her eyes with a falsely innocent expression, and Harry felt his face go all red. Amanda laughed again and pulled him towards the bed. He sat down, feeling much more awkward than when he had been standing.  
  
The was a soft mewing as Midnight got up. She stretched her back, and started across the bed. She walked right over Harry's legs as if he wasn't even there, and curled up in Amanda's lap.  
  
"Oh, how sweet!" Amanda said, stroking the kitten.  
  
Harry looked down at Midnight. "Hey, you're supposed to be MY cat." Midnight looked up at him curiously.  
  
"Jealous?" Amanda asked, cocking her head to one side. Harry wasn't sure if she was asking if he was jealous of her for getting the cat's attention, or of Midnight for getting Amanda's attention. "What's her name?"  
  
"Midnight," Harry told her, reaching over to scratch the kitten's chin. "I got her today from a neighbor."  
  
"Well, she's very sweet... And so are you." Before Harry could recover from that last bit, Amanda leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.  
  
Under normal circumstances, Harry probably would have had a sheepish grin stuck on his face for the next several minutes. However, what happened next drove any smiles away from his face. A tall, thin man came barging into the room. Harry could see the Dursley's hovering outside his door.  
  
"Amanda!? What are you doing here?"  
  
Amanda turned away from both Harry and her father. "We were just talking."  
  
"We came here so you could meet Dudley, not this... this boy!"  
  
"I'm sorry if I ruined your plans by actually having fun tonight."  
  
"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady. We're going home, right now."  
  
Amanda muttered something under her breath that Harry couldn't make out, but she got up and deposited Midnight in his lap. Midnight mewed sadly. Whether she was upset about not being petted anymore, or echoing Harry's disappointment that Amanda had to go, Harry couldn't say. Amanda stormed past her father without even looking at him. He gave Harry a nasty glare, said a curt goodbye to the Dursleys, then followed his daughter down the stairs.  
  
"What do you think you're playing at?" Vernon demanded, once Mr. Dale was gone.  
  
Harry couldn't help but grin. "I did exactly what you told me to. I stayed in my room the entire night." 


	3. Messages in the Rain

Chapter 3: Messages in the Rain

Harry looked at the alarm clock. It was two o' clock in the morning. He couldn't sleep. Dumbledore had said that the rains would let up soon, and owls would be coming. The thought of words from his friends filled him with anticipation.

There would also be information on the fight with Voldemort. At least, any information that wasn't too risky to send by owl. Before the rains had come, Harry had found that, while the bits of critical information left out were still infuriating, the fact that he was not completely out of the loop this year made it bearable. That had been scant comfort after the storm had stopped all communication, trapping him with the Dursley's for two weeks.

Harry reminded himself to thank Moody and the others for what they did at King's Cross the next chance he got. It was their threats that had kept the Dursleys halfway civil towards him all summer, and it was only by reminding Uncle Vernon of this that he had escaped being yelled at for hours for spending the evening with Amanda.

Talking with her had easily been the best thing that had happened to him all summer. She was so fun and vibrant. Just thinking about her brought a smile to his face, but it was immediately followed by a sigh. Rose Hill might as well have been on the other side of the planet. He doubted he'd ever see her again.

He pulled out the Hogwarts letter for the fifth time that night. He had, of course, gotten an 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he had managed to scrape by one in Charms and, much to surprise, Potions, which meant he could still try at being an Auror. Even better was the 'Outstanding' he got in Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid would be happy. He'd gotten an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Transfiguration, and an 'Acceptable' in Divination and Herbology. His only failing grades were a 'Poor' in History of Magic, and, thanks largely to Umbridge's surprise attack on Hagrid, a 'Dreadful' in Astronomy. Still, seven OWLs was definitely nothing to sneeze at.

There was also a checklist of NEWT level classes he was supposed to send back, indicating which courses he wanted to continue. Harry had marked down all seven classes he had received OWLs for. As much as he'd like to give up Divination, he needed to make sure he got at least five NEWTs in his seventh year, and the more classes he took, the more likely that was.

In addition to that, there were Specialist courses being offered. Shorter classes devoted entirely to learning one spell or ability. The Weapon Dueling class Dumbledore had mentioned looked interesting, and would undoubtedly be useful. Apparation would be helpful for getting out of jams quickly, as long as he wasn't at Hogwarts, and the Animagus course would be useful for hiding, not to mention a potential weapon.

Harry let out a heavy sigh. He doubted any other students were picking Specialist courses based on which ones would help the most in a battle with Voldemort. Don't think about it, he told himself, but that never truly worked. No matter how hard he tried, the thought lingered in the back of his head. It was the knowledge of the prophecy, that he would either kill Voldemort or be killed by him, that sapped his energy whenever he let his guard down.

He looked at Midnight, but she was sleeping contently on his pillow. He could have used some of her comfort, like she had given him earlier, but he was unwilling to wake her.

A sharp rap on the window shook Harry out of his revelry. He dashed to the window, almost tripping in his haste to open it. This was it. The owls were starting to arrive.

He wrenched open the window and was immediately drenched as the winds blew rain in. Something black zoomed past his head. It was a large, black raven that circled the room once before landing on the towels on Harry's dresser. Harry had put them out earlier, in anticipation of the wet state the owls would be arriving in.

"Special delivery," the raven stated matter-of-factly, as it shook the water from its feathers. Harry had never seen a raven deliver post before, but it carried a package with it. "Special delivery for Harry Potter."

"I'm Harry Potter," he told the raven.

"Arcamedes, the raven," the bird said, nodding his head in a sort of bowing motion. Harry nodded back, and untied the package from Arcamedes' leg. There was no name on the wrapping, so Harry ripped off the paper and pulled out a hardbound book.

"'A Wizard's Guide to Dating Muggle Girls by Fuddulus Hart'?" Harry read out loud. He looked up at Arcamedes. "What is this?"

"Special delivery for Harry Potter," Arcamedes repeated.

Harry eyed the raven. "You can't say much, can you?"

"I can't say much," the raven quipped, "but I can say enough."

Harry turned his focus to the book. Was this some sort of joke? Before a few hours ago, he hadn't even spoken to a muggle girl since he was ten. But even if someone in the wizarding world had somehow found out about his evening with Amanda, they couldn't have gotten this book to him so quickly.

"Who sent this?" Harry asked Arcamedes.

"Uncle Tom."

"And who's Uncle Tom?"

"Uncle Tom is Uncle Tom."

Harry sighed. "You're not going to give me any more information, are you?"

Arcamedes bobbed his head. "Nevermore." Harry stared dubiously at the raven. "Sorry, raven joke." He stretched out his wings and took off out the window, narrowly missing a small, grey object that careened out of control. Harry leapt forward and caught the diminutive owl, Pigwidgeon, who looked up at him and hooted happily.

"Honestly," Harry told Pig, "one of these days you're going to need to learn how to fly proper." He deposited Pig on the towels, and tried to remove the letter from his leg, which was difficult, as Pig didn't like to stand still.

After a bit of work, he managed to get the letter, but by that time, several other owls had flown in, lining up on the towel-covered dresser. First was Hedwig, who nipped affectionately at his finger as he untied the two parcels. One bore Hermione's tidy handwriting while the other appeared to be from the Creevey brothers. Then came two Hogwarts barn owls, carrying a long package between the two of them. A young tawny owl that struggled with two packages flew in, followed closely by another Hogwarts owl, who seemed to be hooting encouragement to the tawny. Last of all of them was an eagle owl, his feathers dyed in bright purples and reds, carrying a package clearly labeled with a Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes logo on the side.

Harry quickly relieved each of them of their loads, and informed them they could stay as long as they needed to recover from the storm. The Hogwarts owls left as soon as Harry took their packages from them. The young tawny, who appeared to have been sent by the Weasleys, hooted a weary thanks. The brightly colored eagle owl also stayed, looking very self-conscious about his unusual colors.

He started with Ron's letter, which mentioned coming to pick him up soon, but was irritatingly vague, although Harry supposed his travel plans WERE best kept a secret. Apparently Hermione had been bugging him to give Harry something more practical than the chocolates and sweets he normally gave him. Tucked in the envelope was a coupon book for butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks.

Next he turned to the package Hedwig had brought from Hermione. Her letter also spoke of meeting soon, but, similar to Ron's, contained no actual information about when, where, or how. Hermione claimed to be following Ron's advice to give Harry something more fun then practical this year. Tearing open the package, he found a thick book titled "An Auror's Account: A Brief History of the Auror Organization." Colin's present was a small camera, with a spare roll of film and a note thanking him for his help in defensive magic and offering to help him develop the pictures once he had filled the roll.

The tawny owl was still recovering from carrying three packages, but he appeared to have come from the Order's headquarters, as he carried packages from Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys, and one from Remus Lupin. Harry felt a twinge of sorrow as he wondered if they were still using number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Ginny's letter was much more casual than Ron or Hermione's, probably because it contained absolutely no information about the Order, or him coming to see them soon. She asked how his summer was and went on, at great length, about how boring the Summer was when it was just her and Ron. The package itself contained a small bracelet, shaped like a ring of feathers, for Hedwig that would help protect her from storms and predators. Considering the current weather, he thought it was a very smart gift.

He turned to give it to Hedwig, but she had gone. Harry looked around the room, and then out the window, but there was no sign of her. It was unusual for her to leave without telling him, especially with the winds and rain still going at it.

Still, there was nothing he could do until she came back, and Hedwig could take care of herself. He turned his attention back to the gifts. Mrs. Weasley had sent a large cake (much too large, as Harry had no one to share it with), and a dark blue shirt that, according to the letter, would make him less susceptible to injuries while he wore it. Her letter was filled with words of concern and caution, and she mentioned several times that she would be much happier if he was with them sooner. This gave him mixed feelings. He was getting tired of everybody warning him all the time. He KNEW there was danger out there. He didn't need to be reminded. On the other hand, it was nice to know she cared about him so much.

Lupin's letter was brief, mostly explaining the gift: a small black stone, about the size of a fist, with multi-colored swirls running through it. It was called a diviner's stone, and apparently was a relatively new type of magic. Lupin said that it was still undergoing some final tests in the Department for Experimental Charms, and he was only able to get it because he was friends with the witch running the project and because he was giving it to Harry. If held against an object, it would interact with any enchantments without actually triggering them. Depending on the heat, texture, and the color and motions of the swirls, it was possible to determine what spells were on an item. A thick book gave detailed information on how to read the stone.

Next he looked at the package from the twins. It was a large box filled with all sorts of sweets. The top of the box was shaped like a skull with the words "Terribly Twisted Treats" emblazoned across its forehead. The handwriting in the letter kept switching between paragraphs; obviously the twins had taken turns writing it. They had taken the tone of businessmen writing to their investor, which wasn't too far from the truth, as Harry had given them the money to start their business in the first place. As expected, though, they were far from serious, going so far as to compliment Harry on his latest step to make Voldemort bald through a combination of stress and hair-pulling. As a final note, they told him (quite needlessly) not to eat the candy himself, that it was still highly experimental, and that should anything get out of control, the peppermint sticks at the bottom of the box would undo almost any of the effects the candies were capable of inflicting.

Finally there were the packages from Hogwarts. Hagrid's gift was a beautiful wood carving of a stag, which, if broken, would immediately alert any nearby members of the Order to Harry's peril. He sighed at the implicit statement of caution, but the carving was still very nice. He put it on his shelf and turned to the final package: the long, slender parcel that the first two Hogwarts owls had brought.

Inside was an object wrapped in a scarlet cloth with golden trim. Harry hastened to undo the clasps that held it in place, but he already knew what it was. He slid away the cloth to reveal a sword and scabbard. The scabbard was made from red leather, with a gold filligree. A male lion was embossed on the leather. The rubies on the golden hilt sparkled in the light.

He drew the sword. It made a very satisfying ring as it cleared the scabbard. True to Harry's suspicions, the words "Godric Gryffindor" were etched into the blade. He took a few practice swings. The sword felt much more comfortable than it had three years ago, and he experimented, swinging it first with one hand, then with two.

Yes, he thought, the Weapon Dueling class would be very interesting.

"Hedwig!" he said as the snowy owl flew back in the window. "Why on earth did you fly back out into..." He trailed off as he saw the paper tied to Hedwig's foot. It hadn't been there when he removed Hermione's present. Could she have flown to Mrs. Figg's?

Anxiously, he untied the note. It was perfectly dry – the Impervious charm, Harry supposed. He unfolded it, and read the hasty scrawl:

Voldemort has a new spell. No details, but he plans to use it on someone close to "get to you." Warn others.

That was all it said, but it was enough.

Frantically, Harry pulled out a scrap of parchment and his quill. His fingers were shaking so much that his writing was barely legible. He quickly wrote down what little he knew about the message, and copied the message itself. Midnight had apparently woken up, and echoed his anxiety, rubbing nervously against Harry's leg.

"Impervious!" he said, waving his wand over the parchment. "Hedwig, take this to Dumbledore as quickly as possible!" Hedwig took flight the instant he finished tying the note to her leg, clipping his head with her wing in the process.

He made out two more copies of the note. One he tied to the tawny owl with instructions to take the letter to the Weasleys. He was a bit nervous that the brightly colored eagle owl might not take orders from him, but he needed to get a message to Hermione. Fortunately, he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and moments later, he, too, was flying off with a message.

"No, Pig," Harry said, for Pigwidgeon had fluttered down and was anxiously waiting a letter to deliver, too. "I need you here in case something else comes up, okay?" 

Pig looked at Harry blankly, then hooted happily, nipping at Harry's fingers. Harry sighed, clearly the situation was beyond the comprehension of the little owl.

He scooped up Midnight and held her close. He could feel her trembling in his arms. "Don't worry," he whispered. "We'll be okay."

He put her down and made his way downstairs to the phone, where he punched in Mrs. Figg's number.

"Come on, come one," he said, as he waited for someone to pick up. The phone continued to ring. Of course, they were probably asleep. He could only hope that the ringing would wake one of them up.

After about twenty rings, he heard Charlie's voice.

"Er, hello?" he said, obviously uncertain of what he was doing.

"It's me, Harry."

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked. "What happened?"

"I'm fine," Harry reassured him. He then told him about the mysterious letter he had just received. "I sent owls to Professor Dumbledore, your mother, and Hermione Granger. And I've got Pig here just in case."

"Good thinking, Harry. I'd like to head over to your place, to be on the safe side, but with my leg, I'm not sure I'd make it. Besides, it sounds like they're not targeting you directly, so it's probably better if I stay put. Still, this mysterious informant worries me. Any thoughts on who it might be?"

"Well it's not Snape," Harry said. "I've had to stare at his writing long enough to recognize it when I see it. He probably would have just come in, anyway. Whoever sent this was nearby. Hedwig wasn't gone for more than five minutes."

"I don't know how muggles put up with these phones," Charlie sighed. "I can't stand not being able to see who I'm talking to. Anyway, just be careful. It sounds like we've got a hidden ally nearby, but it could still be a trap."

"You be careful, too," Harry said. "I'll call you if something else happens."

He returned the phone to its cradle and returned to his room. Midnight was chasing Pigwidgeon, who was flying around in low circles. He collapsed onto the bed and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

As tired as he was, his sleep was fitful, filled with images of Sirius and that horrid arch and of his friends suffering horrible fates. He saw Hermione fall to the ground under Dolohov's wand, Ron being attacked by the odd brain-like creatures, Mrs. Weasley breaking into tears as the boggart kept assuming the form of her family dead, and more images far worse than anything that had truly happened.

He woke to something soft bumping against his cheek. Midnight was trying to wake him by batting him with her paw. Seeing he was awake, she rubbed the side of her head against him. He caught glimpses of a strange dream where Midnight was chasing a butterfly. He could feel how strongly Midnight was trying to get him to feel this dreams, no doubt in hopes that he'd forget his own.

He'd dreamt those dreams ever since he returned from Hogwarts. At first he thought it might have been some attack from Voldemort, but as time went on, he realized that they were the product of his own guilt and fears. Every morning he woke feeling more drained than he had the night before.

A glance at the clock told him it was seven. That meant he had gotten less than four hours of sleep. He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep again.

He wasn't sure how long he had been laying like that, listening to the rain pounding on the roof, when a large owl flew in through his open window. His curiosity waged war with his apathy, but in the end curiosity won out, and he pulled himself out of bed.

The owl was from the Daily Prophet. It carried a large package, which Harry took from it. Inside was a rather small edition of the Daily Prophet, as well as a note that read:

Dear customer,  
We apologize for the lack of service in the recent weeks and any inconvenience it might have caused. Enclosed is a special Seeker Edition of the Daily Prophet. Merely place your right hand on the paper, and say a topic out loud. Any relevant articles will appear. We thank you for your continued patronage.

Harry looked at the paper. Except for the "Daily Prophet" banner at the top, it was completely blank. He put his right hand on top of it.

"Death Eater attacks." No sooner had the words left his mouth than words started to form, seeping out of the paper. The headline read "Death Eater Lucius Malfoy Dies After Battle In Athens." A picture slowly faded in beneath it, showing Charlie Weasley sitting on the steps of a Greek temple. The figure in the picture gasped for breath, and clutched his bleeding leg.

It didn't fully register with Harry at first, but then it suddenly sank in. Lucius Malfoy was dead? Why hadn't Charlie told him. He quickly scanned the articles.

On Tuesday, July 12th Order of the Phoenix member Charles Weasley caught up with Death Eater Lucious Malfoy on the steps of the Pallas Athena temple. Imprisoned after Harry Potter revealed his connections to You-Know-Who, and released in the most recent raid on Azkaban, Malfoy had been spotted in Spain, France, Germany, Italy, and, finally, Greece.

Charles Weasley, professional dragon handler, ran into Malfoy in a chance encounter in Montreal, Spain. He relentlessly followed Malfoy for over a month before finally catching up with the Death Eater. Witnesses report the battle was intense, lasting most of the night, before Weasley managed to defeat Malfoy, taking serious injury himself. Although Weasley had been attempting to bring in Malfoy alive, Malfoy did not survive the wounds he had received in the battle.

The article went on, giving background on both Malfoy and Charlie. Did Charlie know? Or had they shipped him off here before Malfoy had died? He put it in a mental list of questions to ask Charlie the next chance he got, along with what he was doing in Montreal in the first place.

He spent the next few hours pouring over the newspaper, saying whatever topics he could think of. After a while, though, it began to depress him. There simply wasn't much good news out there.

He turned to the diviner's stone. Soon he had run the stone over every enchanted object he had on hand. Reading the stone was difficult; small changes in vibration or heat could drastically change the meaning of what the stone was saying. Even the book stated that, in the end, intuition was a key factor in using the stone. Still, he felt he was starting to get pretty good at it (although he couldn't even BEGIN to interpret the stone when he placed it on some of the Terribly Twisted Treats).

His attention finally came to 'A Wizard's Guide to Dating Muggle Girls by Fuddulus Hart.' He was suspicious of the book, but after running the diviner's stone over it several times, and comparing it to his other books, he concluded that the only enchantments on the book were the moving pictures and such that were found in all wizard books.

The book itself was interesting, as it contained information on just about everything Harry might need to know for dating a muggle girl. Chapters ranged from "When To Tell Her You're a Wizard, and What To Tell Her Until Then" to "Weird and Bizarre Things Muggles Find Romantic." Hart's technical information seemed accurate enough, like what you had to do to get permission to tell a muggle about the wizarding world, but some of his ideas on what muggle girls liked to do seemed a little far fetched. However, his wife, Jaime Hart, had written in corrections, and bits of her own advice along the margins.

"Hey!" Dudley's voice pulled Harry's concentration away from "Chapter Three: How To Survive Without Magic For One Date." "What happened to your bird?"

"What are you going on about?" Harry asked, wishing he had remembered to close the door after his last trip to the toilet.

Dudley pointed a thick finger at Pigwidgeon, who hooted happily. "Why's he so small? You haven't been doing... that, have you? Cause you're not allowed to. I'll tell dad!"

"Look, you prat," Harry started, but Dudley had already left. Harry started to swear when he heard a tapping noise behind him. He whirled around to find the source of the noise, his hand instinctively going for his wand.

And saw Amanda waving at him through his bedroom window. 


	4. Karate, Action Movies, and Long Walks in...

Chapter 4: Karate, Action Movies, and Long Walks in the Rain

"A-Amanda?" Harry said, rushing to open the window. "What are you doing?"

She climbed into his room, shaking out her umbrella before closing it and pulling it through the window. She did all this as if there was nothing remotely unusual about it. "You mean this isn't the ice cream store? I must have made a wrong turn." She gave him a 'you should have known better' look that made Harry think of Hermione for a moment. "I came here to see you, of course."

"But it's raining," Harry said, "and I'm on the second floor." He wanted to hit himself. Couldn't he come up with something better to say?

Amanda glanced back at the window. "Both of which are frightfully obvious from outside your window. That's what umbrellas and ladders are for. I figured you'd appreciate some company."

Get a grip, Harry thought to himself. He could still salvage this. He could apologize and tell her she caught him off guard. Tell her that her arrival was something he thought was too good to have happened. That sounded good, didn't it? All he had to do was say it.

"I, er, sorry." Or he could babble like an idiot and kill himself while she wasn't looking.

Amanda giggled. "You're cute when you're tongue-tied," she said. Harry wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "I don't blame you. If some stranger I had only met yesterday showed up at MY window, I'd probably scream."

Harry grinned, sheepishly. "Yeah, but if I screamed, the Dursleys'd come investigating, and who'd want that?" His insides suddenly went cold, the sheepish smile falling from his face. "Shoot. My uncle's about to come this way. He's gonna be mad enough at me as it is, and..." He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence without being insulting.

"And catching you with a girl in your room, specifically the girl who turned down his son, won't get you on his good side, right?" Amanda finished it for him. "Maybe we should leave."

"No!" Harry said, quickly, his face heating up. "I mean, it's not like I don't appreciate you coming, but I don't want you to get in trouble."

Amanda's smile could only be described as mischievous. "I know, that's why I said WE should leave. Your uncle can be mad at you on his own time, right?"

Harry returned the smile. She was right. If he was going to get chewed out, he might as well do something to deserve it. "Let's go."

Descending the ladder together while trying to keep both of them under the umbrella's protection was difficult, but they managed to reach the ground only getting marginally wet. Harry turned around to congratulate his partner in crime...

And leapt back in surprise. Standing at the base of the ladder was a Death Eater. The rain blurred its outline, but Harry could still make out a black hood and robe.

His foot slipped in the mud, and he fell backwards. Knowing that the Death Eater probably already had a curse on his tongue, he rolled to the side, while trying to figure out how to simultaneously dodge curses, get back to his feet, and get his wand out of his pocket.

He stopped when he heard Amanda gasping with laughter. Was this some sort of joke? If it was, it was in poor taste. And how did Amanda know what a Death Eater was?

"I'm sorry, Harry," Amanda said as she helped Harry to his feet. Her face was flush from laughing. "Christine likes to scare people like that. Christine, apologize to him."

The figure stepped forward, and Harry realized, to his own chagrin, that what he had mistook for a Death Eater's robe, was really just a black raincoat. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," a strong, Irish voice said. Christine pushed back her hood, and Harry saw the face of a woman in her early thirties. "I didn'a expect such a strong reaction." She chuckled.

Amanda rolled her eyes, although she was still smiling. "Christine is my bodyguard. She and her sister have been helping my father look after me since I was little. He seems to think that I'm in mortal danger if I'm alone, but that's what father's are for, I guess."

Harry was struggling to regain his composure. The idea of bodyguards wasn't the easiest thing to digest, especially after just having mistaken one of them for a dark wizard.

"Won't you get in trouble, then?" he asked. "I mean, she's going to tell your father about this, won't she? And judging from last night, I don't think he approves of me."

"Nah," Christine replied with a smile. "Y'see, th' master knows his daughter has this rebellious side, an' he knows there's nothin' anyone can do t' stop her from sneakin' out. A bodyguard's no good if their charge's tryin' t' escape them, so we have a li'l truce with Miss Dale. She don' try t' ditch us, and we don't stop her from having fun, or report it to her father."

Harry idly wondered if Moody would agree with this mentality. He'd probably suggest putting Amanda in leg irons.

"So, uh, what now?" Harry asked. He was starting to have doubts about this. He was cold, wet, covered in mud, and he could feel a bruise forming from landing on his camera. Hardly the way he'd like a pretty girl to be seeing him, although, he reminded himself, it was her fault in this case.

Amanda looked a little worried. "Well, I was hoping you'd just take a little walk with me, but after Christine got you covered in mud..." It was unusual to see her like this. He realized he barely knew her, but she had always seemed so confident and assertive. Seeing her scared and vulnerable somehow made him realize how beautiful she was all over again, and before he realized what he was doing, he had pulled out the camera and snapped a picture.

"Hey!" Amanda said, turning away and covering her face. He already had the picture, though.

"Sorry," he said. "You don't like having your picture taken?"

"I wasn't ready for it!" Amanda said. She stayed looking away from Harry, but he could hear a smile in her voice. "I'm wet, and my hair's a mess, and-"

"You're the one who wanted to walk in the rain," Harry said, trying to sound indignant and keep from laughing at the same time.

Amanda turned around, smiling again. "Fair enough," she said. "I always liked the rain. It's relaxing. It washes away everything, until it's just you in your own little world. My father thinks I'm mad, but I've loved going for walks like this since as long as I can remember."

"I can vouch fer her," Christine put in. "Although when she was a wee one, it wasn't so much walkin' as it was jumpin' naked int' puddles."

"It's double standards, I tell you," Amanda said. "A little child runs around naked, and everybody thinks it's 'cute,' but try it when you're sixteen and it's suddenly 'indecent exposure.'" Harry felt his face turn bright red. "Told you he was cute when he blushed," Amanda said to Christine.

"If I agree to the walk," Harry said, feeling horribly embarrassed, yet amazingly happy at the same time, "can we change the subject?"

Walking in the rain was an interesting experience. The rain had lightened considerably, but Privet Drive was still obscured, vague lines hidden in the grey fog. The raindrops hitting the umbrella kept an erratic beat as they walked. He was a bit cold, of course. He wasn't really dressed for being outside in this weather, and the fall in the mud hadn't helped. He longed for Charlie's drycoat.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They walked in silence, entranced by the serenity that surrounded them. Finally, Amanda spoke.

"Have you seen 'Betrayal Within'?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"The new action movie. It came out last Friday."

"Oh," Harry said, "No." He hadn't seen any movies, but he didn't think he needed to tell her that just yet. "Is it good?"

She shrugged. "It was mindless and predictable. The plot held together just enough to string the car chases and explosions together. But for a mindless summer film, not bad."

"Do you like the movies?" he asked. It dawned on him that finding common interests with a muggle might be difficult.

"Yeah, I love them." Her eyes were bright with excitement. "In a movie, anything can happen. The only limitation is the director's imagination. It's like... magic! I want to be an actress someday, you know. Maybe try my hand at writing some, too."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Sounds good to me. What kind of movies do you want to write?"

Amanda paused for a moment. "Not sure. Something dramatic and fast-paced, but with some depth, too, you know? Oh, and with a kickass heroine for me to play." She grinned widely.

"Just make sure you can keep up with her," Harry smiled.

"Hey!" Amanda said, punching him playfully in the arm. "I'll have you know I'm a black belt, third rank in Karate."

Harry held up his arms in surrender. "Okay," he said, playfully. "I believe you. Just don't hurt me."

Amanda laughed, and grabbed his arm, possessively. They walked in silence for a while longer, Amanda still holding Harry's arm. It was a pleasant experience.

"So where do you go to school?" she asked a bit later. "The rumormongers say you go to Saint Brutus's, but if that's true, I'll eat my umbrella."

Harry was ready for this question. Hart covered it in the first chapter. "I go to Herald Academy." Herald Academy didn't exist, but anybody investigating it would find whatever information lined up with what they thought they already knew. It had been designed specifically for this purpose.

"Do you like it there?" she asked.

"Well, it's no Saint Brutus's," he smiled, "but I love it there. The coursework's interesting and I've got friends there."

"And no three hundred pound cousins, right? That must count for something. I go to Aranvale Girl's Academy."

"How's that?"

She shrugged. "It's alright. A bit on the dull side, but I've got some friends there, too."

"I'm sure you have friends wherever you go," Harry said without thinking. Reflecting on it, he wasn't sure if it was a good compliment, or just corny. He was beginning to realize that Amanda enjoyed either one.

"That's sweet," she smiled. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Harry could feel his face heat up immediately. "But I think my friends would pale next to yours. I don't know why, but you seem like the type who, well, even if you're not friends with everyone, when you do form a connection, it's a strong one. I just have that feeling about you. I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"I..." Harry started to reply, when he suddenly stopped. The dragon tooth necklace he was wearing underneath his shirt suddenly became warm. The fangs pressed into his chest, and intuitively, he knew this meant there was danger. He whirled around, scanning the fog for some sign of the threat. Amanda and Christine both turned around, trying to see what had prompted this from Harry.

"D'ye see somethin', Mr. Potter?" Christine asked. She had been trailing a few feet behind them as they walked, but she quickly crossed that distance now to stand protectively in front of Amanda.

Harry clutched the wand hidden in his pocket. What situations warranted the use of magic? Certainly if a dementor or a Death Eater was there, he'd be free to retaliate and defend himself however he could, but what if it was something muggle, like a mugger? Was he allowed to cast magic in a situation like that?

His throat tightened as a vague shape became visible in the gloom. Amanda tried to step forward to get a better look, while Harry tried to move into a position where he hoped he could cast a leglocker curse without being noticed. Christine, however, pushed them both back. The wind howled, but Harry could just barely make out the what the figure called out.

"Avada... AAUGH!" Harry's stomach twisted into a knot, but untied itself just as quickly. When he had heard the start of the killing curse, he thought it was over. He didn't know who the first target would be, but one of them would have died. Yet something had stopped him. He saw flickers of light where the shadow had been.

Christine pulled them forward. There was a man in a black robe sprawled out on the street. Kneeling beside him was a woman. She wore a black raincoat, but the hood had fallen back. She looked so much like Christine, that Harry looked up at the woman who held his arm to be sure she was still there.

"Thought ye could sneak up on th' mistress?" the woman asked, her accent every bit as strong as Christine's. She bent over him, and he screamed again, his leg's twitching oddly.

"Enough, Nessie," Christine said, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Was he alone?" Harry saw the man's wand lying in the street. While no one was looking, he quickly pocketed it.

"Aye. I was followin' him for about three blocks t' see if he was up to somethin'. When he pulled somethin' outta his pocket an' aimed it at Miss Dale, I tazered him." She sounded like she had enjoyed that last part immensely.

"This," Amanda started, then swallowed nervously. She looked really shaken up, but was trying to go on like everything was normal. "This is Vanessa. She's... she's Christine's sister... And... And..."

Harry put his arm around Amanda's shoulders, and she embraced him tightly, crying on his shoulder.

A while later found them sitting on a bench at the police station, while Vanessa spoke with a police officer about what had happened. Christine was leaning against the wall by the door, watchful. Everything was silent. Harry couldn't figure out anything to say, and Amanda didn't seem to want to talk, either. They just sat there, together, Amanda curled up against Harry.

"Thank you, Ma'am," a police woman said, as she stepped out of her office with Vanessa. "We'll take care of things from here. I'll have a squad car take you and Miss Dale home."

"What about Potter?" Vanessa asked.

"I need to ask him a few questions, then I'll take him home myself."

Amanda sat up and looked at Harry. Her cheeks were red, and she looked embarrassed.

"Thank you, Harry," she said.

"But I didn't really do anything. I just sat there with you"

"And I needed that, so thanks. I'm sorry our walk ended like that. After my father finds out about this, I don't think I'll be able to get out of the house much for a while. I had fun, though."

Harry tried to think of something to say. If it had to end this way, he could deal with it, but he didn't want his last memories of her to be like this.

"Smile," he said, pulling out the camera Colin Creevey had given him.

Amanda blinked. "What?"

"Well, if I'm not going to see you for the rest of the summer, you can at least give me a decent picture. Smile. No one got hurt, and no matter what happens, I'm sure we'll see each other again someday."

She smiled, weekly. It was nothing compared to her usual smile, though.

"Come on," he said. "You can do better than that. Or do you need to be half-soaked for a good picture."

"Hey!" Amanda protested, her voice gaining strength. "I happen to be very photogenic. I look great in any picture."

"Prove it," Harry grinned, holding up the camera. Amanda struck a pose where she tilted her head back and threw her hair over her shoulder. Harry laughed and took the picture.

"C'mon," Christine said, putting a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "We'd best be goin'."

As Harry watched the three of them left the station, his mind turned to his own situation. He wasn't sure if he was in trouble or not. What if they asked him questions about the wizard? He still had the man's wand, not to mention his own. What could he say if they discovered them?

Then there was the Dursleys. They were already going to be mad at him for sneaking out. He didn't want to imagine what they'd say if he came home in a police car.

"Now, Mr. Potter." He almost jumped when the police woman addressed him. She gave him a knowing glance, and he got the impression she was hiding something. "Into my office, if you don't mind." Mutely, he rose and entered the room she had indicated. She followed him, closing the door behind her.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Potter?" She said, then smiled widely. "Like a pumpkin juice, or maybe a butterbeer?" 


End file.
